Dull and Void

We are all fearful of boredom – so what do we do to drive that feeling away when we’re sitting idly on a bus or waiting for a friend who’s running late for a coffee? We reach for a stream of entertainment from a screen or headphones – anything to conquer our fear of having nothing to do. 

Frank Sinatra admitted he’d believe anything to get him through the night. Marilyn Monroe claimed to believe in everything… just a little bit. Lying awake at 4am, we face reality – death is a day nearer, booze only pretends to deaden reality, spontaneous sex is but a memory, and much of life seems tedious and pointless. So, what’s the bloody point? Oh God, we face the same crappy TV, earning money… or not earning it, and unpayable tax bills. We realise that Ecclesiastes’ “life is meaningless” is an understatement. Have we enough pills? Are those men in white coats running over the hills coming for me?

We face fear. Best turn up the music.

Oscar Wilde said, “It’s absurd to divide people into good or bad. People are either charming or tedious” and then “Boredom is the greatest sin”. But be of good cheer because Oscar was plain wrong.  

Turn it Off

There’s an alternative to addictive games and pot and pills, for there’s something positive to be said about boredom. When a teenager opines that Shakespeare’s a “bore” and reaches for the rubbish to which they’re addicted, they are saying more about themselves than Shakespeare. Wilde’s quip is more about him than the people he was talking about. We need space in our life, a time to brood. So, turn off the devices. Would Keats have written what is arguably one of the finest poems in the English language – “Ode to a Nightingale” – at 23 if he had been addicted to the likes of “WarGames” on a screen? 

The poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko writes that there are no boring people in the world – each person has a world that’s all their own.

And there are different kinds of boredom. The classic scholar Peter Toohey distinguishes between “simple boredom” (when, for example, you’re waiting in a traffic jam) and “existential boredom” (the kind experienced by characters in Russian novels, a deep weariness with the world). Toohey argues that boredom is an adaptive emotion, designed to help us flourish. Boredom is necessary because without the ability to delay gratification and tolerate inactivity, who can devote the time and patience necessary to master the skills required to practise any profession – the law, the church, the military, accountancy or music?

Every now and again boredom, emptiness and the meaninglessness of life drive the desperate towards oblivion. Let’s get wasted, furiously gamble or seek paid-for porn or sex – mirages to deaden the pain.

In ancient times, the Desert Fathers decided to face boredom head on (they called it “acedia”) by retreating to the desert to live lives dedicated to silence and prayer. They understood the futility of human existence, realising that we were never meant to be wholly satisfied with the tinsel of this world – we are made for more. 

However, desert life is a tad extreme for most. So, what’s the answer?  Pascal’s view was that much of our unhappiness comes from the inability to sit quietly by ourselves, even in the comfort of our own room, without needing to be entertained or distracted. Perhaps, then, one answer is to savour the shape of a flower, appreciate music, consider the delicate beauty of a bird in flight, gaze at a glorious sunset, understand what’s going on behind that look on someone’s face and appreciate the sheer particularity of what’s happening around us.

The Catholic philosopher Josef Pieper writes that the world has forgotten how to worship:

“The vacancy left by absence of worship is filled by mere killing of time and by boredom, which is directly related to inability to enjoy leisure; for one can only be bored if the spiritual power to be leisurely has been lost.”

So, boredom has a vital place. It can teach us patience – it can slow us down and it can be a gateway to wisdom. Best to bring it on.

Thought for the Day

“Throughout the world, the more wrong a man does, the more indignant is he at wrong done to him.”

Anthony Trollope

Kicking the Can

The realities of our predicament were starkly laid out by Angela Merkel in 2012: “Europe accounts for 7 per cent of the world’s population, 25 per cent of its economy and 50 per cent of its social welfare expenditure.” 

The second reality is that the UK can never raise more than 38 per cent of GDP from taxation. It’s spending 44 per cent. That 6 per cent deficit has to be borrowed – and lenders are getting mighty edgy.

That’s the shape of the truth: we can’t afford to go on like this.

To pay for our present excesses, our politicians are shunting the bill to our grandchildren on the nation’s credit card. We have run deficits in 47 of the last 51 years. Bond yields (the cost of borrowing money) are higher than ever. This is what happens when politicians keep avoiding essential structural reforms – eventually, the problems will eat you alive.

The iron law of life is that when there’s no pain, there’s no gain. Churchill promised only “blood, toil, tears and sweat” while Thatcher was desperately unpopular as she led us through tough reforms – remember “The lady’s not for turning”? It was vital for a brighter future. The same tough messages were delivered by Attlee, Konrad Adenauer and Roosevelt. So, it can be done.

 I wish Andy Burnham well. Let’s hope he’s more than a nice guy.

He must deal with welfare. In so doing, he has to deal with the opposition of his Labour MPs, the majority of whom have no commercial experience whatsoever. Burnham must cut billions from our unaffordable national bill, encouraging many millions into work.

He simply has to state that if his Labour MPs don’t support this essential legislation, he will do what Major did over Maastricht and call an election.

Warren’s Wisdom

Warren Buffett offers five rules for not going broke:

1: Never buy a new car.

2: Never spend, say, £5,000 plus (each) on a holiday.

3: Never stretch yourself to the limit when buying a house.

4: Never spend money on buying new furniture all at once.

5: Invest your savings with experienced managers in the stock market. Over 100 years, the stock market has easily beaten house appreciation, and, despite many savage corrections, it always bounces back. 

Marital Gems

Our host tells me that he met his present wife at her late husband’s funeral.

On another tack, we had a great party before the walk when our eldest grandson announced his engagement to a girl from Texas. What excellent news.

Love, Actually

I lament the report of the Centre for Social Justice that informs us that the near total collapse of marriage as an institution is predominantly among younger people. So young marrieds are today counter-cultural radicals – that’s more than sad. As a result, we in the west are emotionally and spiritually poorer because of our insistence on independence over interdependence.

“Take back control” was the most effective slogan in the past decade because we have come to desire autonomy in our lives – and Frank Sinatra’s song “I Did It My Way” summarises the mood. But marriage, sharing, having kids and the heavy responsibilities we assume shatters the illusion we can do it on our own. An African proverb tells us: “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” But that apart, from a practical viewpoint, marriage is the best welfare system ever devised. Research shows that children born within a stable marriage outperform and are happier than those brought up by single mothers (many of whom struggle heroically in adverse circumstances, and against all the odds, bring up wonderfully balanced and successful children).

The chattering classes seem to rejoice at the destruction of the nuclear family. But with one in five of the adult population taking antidepressants, mental illness amongst the young soaring, and Britain having some of Europe’s highest levels of drug and alcohol-related harm, am I being a dinosaur to wonder if these issues are linked to family breakdown? Just asking. And while I’m at it, why not encourage families to look after our old and infirm instead of importing other people to do the job for us?

Our Marriage

Jane and I married in our early twenties. Of course we weren’t ready, but in our day, we couldn’t live together without acute social disapproval, so we had to get on with it. There’s never a perfect time to get married and have children, and there’s always a reason to delay making the decision – the effect on jobs and money, wondering if the other person is really “the one”, and what about the cost of housing? When are we ever ready?

In retrospect, Jane and I were mentally children, and we certainly had no idea of the baptism of fire that awaited us. Having little children is life-changing. I quote Michelle Obama: “They are terrorists. They have demands. They don’t talk. They are rotten communicators. They cry all the time. They are irrational. They are needy and you love them. So, you can’t blame them, right? So, you turn your frustrations on each other and get very angry.”

We survived. But what, in summary, have Jane and I learned? Our marriage has been like a mirror. I see Jane and she sees me at our worst and at our best. We continue to grow together in grace, compassion, commitment and trust. I was once asked by a group of singles what was the one quality needed to sustain a happy marriage, and I said, “Amnesia”. I have forgotten how Jane irritated me last week and she forgets how stupid I was yesterday.

We had to discover all this for ourselves, for there was no “marriage course” to warn us of the perils and pitfalls inherent in what we were facing – we just had to learn on the job. I recently re-read the “vows” we made all those years ago. They are terrifying, and I’m sure I had no concept of their implications at the time I made them. I now know they are vows, not easy promises to obey or ignore on impulse. They’re big stuff, and we put our souls in peril if we treat them casually. We solemnly promised to stick by one another for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health – and, by the grace of God, we’ve managed to do these things.

At its toughest, our marriage has been a carousel of mistakes, apologies, reparative work, trying to put things right and learning as we go. Grief at the loss of beloved friends is no less painful with the passing of the years – we just get more used to handling the pain. The older we get, the better our marriage has become.

For Jane and me, marriage and having our children has been the best investment we ever made for ourselves, and, ultimately, for our children and grandchildren.

Fifty Shades of Grey

As the years passed, we realised marriage wasn’t skipping around among the flowers for decades on end. Being a parent is hard work, and it never ends; sometimes it’s a great joy and other times it’s boring, costly and worrying. And that’s fine, for this is normal life.

For most people, happiness vanishes completely from time to time, and sometimes for a long time. However, experience tells us that it usually returns when we’ve stopped looking. Love, however, to quote the late Queen, does conquer all – although it takes its time about it and there are often diversions along the way. But perfection doesn’t exist.

I accept growing older. As the years pass, you become a person to whom more and more things have happened – good things, bad things, fantastic things, heartbreaking things, small everyday things that didn’t count for much at the time, but which eventually, all together, meld into something valuable. They build us up and they flesh us out. Whatever insights we accumulate in the process – even if it doesn’t seem like wisdom at the time – enrich us immeasurably as people. I have done most of my growing up since I was 50. And Jane has grown up too, although she started as a much wiser person than I was. 

So, unless you are unusually clever and empathetic, the more life you have accumulated, the more clearly you can see things. As long as we don’t get stuck in our ways – which only happens if we become frightened of the world – we become more tolerant, more flexible, kinder, more broadminded, more considerate, less inclined to knee-jerk reactions and are simply wiser than we were before. Jane and I can see both sides of an argument, understand that things are rarely binary and recognise that there are many gradations of shades of grey, from wispy cloud to the bottom of the stove. 

Long live growing older!

Joy Shared

Macmillan Cancer Support recently published findings showing that 18- to 35-year-olds had, on average, 237 Facebook friends. When asked how many could be relied on in a crisis, the average answer was two, a quarter said one and an eighth said none. Many of my older friends tell me that their friends are only to be found at work or in the golf club.    

I was told about an American family that came to live in London, the father heading up a company in one of the world’s largest industries – for him, the opportunity of a lifetime. However, a month later, the company went bankrupt. Three years later, he stood up in his church and told the congregation that without the help and support of church members, he had no idea how he and his family could have survived.

Would such help have been forthcoming from work friends or those at the golf club? I doubt it. When it comes to real friendship, the church family is where you can find the real thing.

Consider the relationship between parents and children. A recent report by UNICEF compared parenting habits in the UK, Sweden and Spain. In Britain, parents tend to give their children expensive toys and holidays, electronic gadgets and high-status brands; yet children said they would have preferred attention, love and time. 

Through a Christian charity from which my family has substantially benefited, children and adults are taught how to say prayers, study the Bible and make like-minded and lasting friends. That experience is altogether deeper and longer-lasting than any material gift. You can witness the generations bonding, giving the next generation an identity to live with, ideals to aspire to and a set of habits of gratitude and self-restraint that allow families to face life’s hazards with confidence and courage. In terms of family and true community, that’s the real McCoy.

Then look at status. Our “success-driven” secular society laughs at those who take faith and church seriously, labelling them “Bible bashers” or “God botherers”, and concluding they are weak and deluded. Instead, people are judged by how much they earn and the status of the job titles they may – only temporarily – hold.

The Power of Community

In “Alive” churches, on the other hand, people are valued for how much they give – whether it’s money, time, hospitality, help to those in need or support to those who are facing a crisis. Materialism, selfishness and drivel like, “I did it my way” have combined to create a world of false values and despair. Only in faith communities will you find friendship that’s real.

Now to happiness. I founded ZANE to assist those in acute difficulty in Zimbabwe – a country where there’s no NHS or social services provision if you’re lonely or sick, and where thousands are likely to die alone in despair and squalor. That’s real poverty. It’s surpassingly strange that despite the cost-of-living crisis in the UK, we are in fact affluent beyond our grandparents’ wildest dreams. However, we never cease to complain about our lot while the demand for antidepressants and the incidence of alcoholism and drug abuse continue to soar.

In churches and synagogues, you will find something different. There’s no precise word for it – the Jewish tradition calls it simcha, usually translated as “rejoicing”, an emotion you can only experience in the company of others. Well-led local groups and organisations can generate this emotion, as can regiments in the army, but it comes into its own in churches and places of worship. It’s best translated as  “joy shared”. So, I’m borrowing the great word simcha from my Jewish friends. 

In “Alive” churches, people come together to celebrate an engagement, a forthcoming marriage, a wedding, a baptism or a thanksgiving for a well-lived life – people sing and rejoice together. That’s simcha – a joy shared is a joy multiplied. It’s a world away from the illusory happiness generated by the advertising industry and the self-centred mirage of the pursuit of desire.

I learned late that happiness, like true friendship, trust, altruism, virtue, enduring values and real relationships, is most readily achieved in community. In an age when face-to-face communities are in steep decline, they are still strong in “Alive” churches.

So, ignore the world of brands and bling and find a vibrant church. Unlike the culture of advertising and dreams of ever-more “stuff”, friendship and simcha are the true treasure.       

Things That Irritate…

1. Being forced to listen to some music with the words, “You’re really going to enjoy this.”
2. Being asked to watch a video with the promise, “It’s hilarious.”
3. People who respond to “How are you?” with “I’m good”.
4. Well-intentioned people who sign cards, say, simply “Mary” – we might know six. 
5. Greeting cards that say “Seasonal” or “Festive” greetings (much favoured by Lib Dem councils desperate not to offend anyone), instead of “Happy Christmas”.

The Black Dog

“For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move; to feel the needs and hitches of our life more nearly; to come down off this feather-bed of civilization, and find the globe granite underfoot and strewn with cutting flints.

Alas, as we get up in life, and are more preoccupied with our affairs, even a holiday is a thing that must be worked for. To hold a pack upon a pack-saddle against a gale out of the freezing north is no high industry, but it is one that serves to occupy and compose the mind. And when the present is so exacting, who can annoy himself about the future?”

Robert Louis Stevenson, Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes

Depression is on the rise. If you are one of those affected by what Churchill called the “Black Dog” and you get crushed by useless emotions such as remorse and guilt – physically, psychologically and spiritually damaging – we must do something about it. These emotions can pervade our memories and contaminate our lighter moments. I know, for I’ve been there. It takes willpower to catch these negative and self-defeating thoughts and replace them with new and more constructive ones. It can be done. I believe that we don’t have to go all the way to the “freezing north” with a donkey – a long walk in the countryside with a sandwich and a bottle of water will do the trick. You’ll be concentrating so hard on where you’re going that the past will fade and the future will start to look after itself. After just a short while, the negative stuff starts to dissolve, and life begins to look better.

So, if you’re looking up at the sky from the bottom of a well, it’s good to remember that climbing out starts with the first step. Start replacing the thoughts that are keeping you where you don’t want to be in life with ones that will help you get where you want to go.

A Taste of the Past

England in the 1950s was a simpler time – here’s what passed for culinary life before the world discovered avocado, hummus and bottled water.

Spaghetti came out of a Heinz tin.

Curry was a surname.

Pizza was a place with a leaning tower.

The only choice with crisps was whether to add salt or not.

Coffee came from a pot.

Espresso was an Italian train. 

Rice was only ever served as a milk pudding.

Brown bread was only for those who couldn’t afford white.

Oil was for lubricating cars; fat was for cooking.

Olive oil was a laxative, bought at the chemist.

Tea was brewed in a teapot using tea leaves.

Fish didn’t have fingers.

Milk came in a bottle on your doorstep.

Eating raw fish was disgusting and demonstrated how weird the Japanese were.

Yoghurt? Huh?

An exotic fruit was a banana.

Cooking outdoors was called “camping”.

Thai restaurants were in Thailand – or Siam, as we used to call it.

Kebab wasn’t even a word, let alone a type of food.

Prunes were prescribed by the doctor in case the olive oil failed to work.

Water came from the tap. Bottling it and charging more for it than petrol would have been regarded as insane.

Hardly anyone had a fridge. You kept your perishables in a meat safe outside the kitchen door.

The only kitchen appliance was a knife.

Sausages were called “bangers” because they contained so much water, they exploded when hot.

Chop suey was the only known Chinese dish.

A dishwasher was our mothers.

Best supper: toast with dripping.

Best pudding: Yorkshire pudding topped with golden syrup.

A hamburger was a visitor from Germany.

Life’s Golden Rules

I read some of the scribbles of Ian Fleming (author of the James Bond books). Among them were the rules he gave Bond to live his life by:

1. Don’t waste time on women who wear a bracelet on the left ankle.

2. Beware of motor cars with two women in the front seats.

3. Never play cards against a married couple unless they are drunk.

4. Before you drink, look at the brand name on the bottle.

5. Avoid people who call you “old boy”.

6. Never eat scrambled eggs unless you have made them yourself.

7. Talk secrets only in the open air.

8. Don’t buy anything that eats (he forgot to finish this rule so you will never know which animal to avoid).

9. Tread carefully in the company of moustaches, sideburns and beards. 

10. Live until you’re dead.

How we have lived so long without this advice is a mystery to me.

Undressed

I have just seen La Traviata, one of Verdi’s greatest operas, at the Royal Opera House.

It’s a magnificent theatre, and the whole production was stunning, with an orchestra at the top of its game, wonderful singing and acting, magnificent sets and superb costumes.

Then in waddled the audience, T-shirts, trainers and arses sticking out from tracksuits – possibly bussed in, unwashed, from Scunthorpe.

Gone are the tails and white ties, magnificent dresses and jewels – all worn to honour the composer, the singers, the designers and the building.

Sad, somehow.

The Great Purge

Scrabble is perhaps your favourite board game.

For years there have been official Scrabble dictionaries detailing which words are allowed and banned. For instance, “shvitz”, meaning sweat, is now allowed (hooray!), as are “kawaii” (the quality of being lovable), “ougiya” (Mauritanian monetary unit), “dhikr” (Sufi ceremony) and, of course, the priceless “fy” (to digest). The thing the Scrabble authorities have never done is nanny us by proscribing naughty words. But now Hasbro (owner of the Scrabble brand) has banned a whole crowd of words that have been Scrabble-legal for a long time.

These are: batshit, boff, bollocks, bullshit, butcher, crumbly, effing, girlie, greybeard, hebe, honky, Jesuit, johnson (sad for Boris), libber, Mongolian, nancy, papist, poof, poontang, shagger, stiffy and willie.

But Hasbro has also unbanned some words: butch, pom, poo, sambo, jailbait and balder.

Now you know.

The Assembly Line

In the 1950s, Second World War Spitfire hero Sir Douglas Bader gave an assembly talk to the girls of Benenden School about his part in the Battle of Britain. Not noted for his modesty, he hobbled to the blackboard on his artificial legs and chalked a series of small circles. 

“It was a hell of a dogfight!” he exclaimed, pointing vaguely at the circles. “There were fockers to the left of me, fockers to the right and then I saw another focker coming straight at me.”

The scandalised headmistress interrupted him by saying, “Girls, I think I should clarify that a ‘Fokker’ is a type of fighter plane used by the Germans.”

“Yes, that’s true,” snapped Group Captain Bader. “But these fockers were Messerschmitts!”

Speeches by the great and the good to school assemblies aren’t usually so snappy and entertaining; instead, they are safe, boring, coddling, predictable, tedious and grandmotherly: “Work hard. Respect the teachers at this wonderful and noble school, and honour and love your parents.”

What a load of patronising bollocks!   

A Few Home Truths

Here’s an excellent speech from a friend, Rodney Evans:

“The purpose of your education is to enjoy a social life… of sorts – albeit you are often surrounded by spoiled and spotty children with far too much money. Having said that, in the pecking order that pollutes the British public square, this school is said to be “smart”. Notwithstanding that there are a great number of rich thickos as pupils – I suppose their rich daddies had to send them somewhere – you have a chance to make contacts that might, just might, be useful in your future life. Second, your time here enables you to spend time in a nice, warm building; this last is the only reason your teachers bother to show up.

My advice is to be an inquisitive amateur, only study what interests you and just ignore everything else. If you come first in your exams, that will please your parents and teachers but will generate considerable dislike amongst your contemporaries. That’s a handy lesson – success brings risks.

Most of your classwork is useless. Maths, for example, is an exaggeration. There is only one number one. The rest is duplication and overstatement.

Ignore literature unless you enjoy it. It’s just escapism for intellectuals – Homer, Dante, Chekhov and so on are all in the same business as Netflix: distraction. Live your life. Don’t boggle at replicas offering fictional problems.  

If you get a degree, as soon as you enter the real world, you’ll learn the harsh reality that paper qualifications are worthless and the ability to laugh at your bosses’ jokes that aren’t funny is worth 20 years of schooling.

When choosing a career, reject the occupations that are essential to human life: farming, mining, building and sanitation. These careers are poorly paid, dangerous, cold and often wet… and socially negative. No one invites a scaffolder to a film premiere. The autobiographies of sewage engineers have never been the subject of bidding wars by publishing firms. A turnip grower is unlikely to be granted a knighthood. No trawlerman has ever been invited to appear on Newsnight.

Instead, take up an idle, glitzy and parasitical career like banking, journalism, politics or acting. If you have just a little talent, you can earn loadsamoney and you’ll be treated as a semi-divinity.

Medicine is a useful career if you have enough patience to soothe the egos of work-shy attention-seekers who often aren’t as ill as they pretend to be.

I fear your emotional life will be painful and expensive. That’s just how it is. Keep your anguish to yourself and smile widely when the cameras are clicking. Your problems will start in your twenties and thirties when you fall in love. Don’t be alarmed. You can extricate yourself from disaster by getting married.

If you have children and they reach adulthood without disowning you in public, then you will have achieved as much as any parent can hope for.

Trust no one. Your gut instincts are usually correct. Stay on the attack. 

And finally, don’t fear death. Your absence from this world will have as much effect as your presence in it – that is, very little. The reality is that you and your “legacy” will soon be forgotten. 

Good luck!

A Shameful Silence

When I was at school in the late 1950s, a Jewish friend – I remember his name to this day – suffered appalling antisemitic abuse. Of course, I rushed to his defence, single-handedly fighting the abusers.

In fact, spotty little rat that I was, I did no such thing. I pretended I agreed with the abusers and left him friendless and slowly twisting in the wind.

Later, aged 18, I shared a room with a Rhodesian cadet at RMA Sandhurst who was violently racist. I recall his name and the vile things he said about Black people but, once again, I’m ashamed to say I said nothing.

I was also exposed to “soft” prejudice. An aunt who dealt with theatre companies used to say, “Now, so-and-so (I remember his name as well, funny that after all these years) is a ‘nice’ Jew” – the implication being that all the others weren’t nice!

It’s less obvious now, but antisemitism is back again. All those marches against Israel. None against Iran, Burma or the suppression of freedom in Hong Kong. Funny that. Emotion only seems to erupt into hostile marches when Jews are involved. Antisemitic prejudice is a very light sleeper.

Racial prejudice and antisemitism dehumanise people. They are a refuge for the ignorant, seeking to degrade and destroy. They are the enemies of freedom and deserve to be met head-on and stamped out.

Meek and Mild

How many of you think church is boring? Is Jesus meek and mild?

In John 2:15–16, Jesus makes a whip out of cords and drives the sheep and oxen from the temple. Then he exclaims to the dove sellers, “Get these out of here! How dare you turn my father’s house into a market?”

Sometimes God wants us to get angry. Often the status quo needs challenging. Jesus lost his temper over the misuse of his Father’s house. What does this teach us today?

The people who criticised Christ never, to do them justice, accused him of being boring. On the contrary, they thought he was too dynamic and challenging to be safe. It’s been left to many churches to muffle that shattering personality and surround him with an atmosphere of tedium. We have very efficiently pared the claws of the Lion of Judah and certified him as “meek and mild”, recommending him as a suitable household pet for pale curates and pious old ladies.

“Oh Dear!”

I much enjoy vigorous discussion, but I dislike it if the person arguing knows nothing about the subject.  In fact, when I discover that my opponent hasn’t a clue what they are talking bout I make my apologies and talk about the weather.

I recall in 2017 a friend of mine voted Labour; that was a vote for Jeremy Corbyn.

I asked him why?

He answered, “My son tells me such distressing news about the council housing in Lambeth I felt I had no option.”

I pointed out that the Council was Labour-controlled.

“Oh dear!”

Churchill wrote that he still just about believed in democracy after speaking to any constituent for a mere five minutes.

The Perils of Prediction

Michael Gove once said, “I’ve had enough of experts.”

The inaccuracy of predictions is fascinating. The more seriously an expert takes themselves, the more themselves, the more likely they are to be hilariously wrong. Economists often make astrology look respectable, but what about other forecasters?

Consider these examples:

Back in 1943, Tom Watson, President of IBM – which, 20 years later, would command 80 per cent of the world computer market – wrote, “There’s a world market for maybe five computers.” IBM later invented the personal computer but did nothing with it, leaving the market to college drop-out Steve Jobs – who showed that the personal PC might actually have its uses.

In 1946, the great Darryl F. Zanuck, head of 20th Century Fox, claimed, “Television won’t be able to hold on to any market it captures after the first six months. People will soon get tired of staring at a plywood box every night.”

In 1953, Alex Lewyt, president of Lewyt Vacuum Cleaners, declared, “Nuclear powered vacuum cleaners will be a reality within 10 years.”

Ken Olsen, founder and president of Digital Equipment Corporation (DEC), a dominant force in computing in the 1970s, said, “There’s no reason why anyone would want a computer in their home.”

In 1995, Robert Metcalfe, founder of 3Com, declared, “I predict the internet will soon go spectacularly supernova and in 1996 catastrophically collapse.”

In 1997, Nathan Myhrvold, chief technology officer at Microsoft, announced, “Apple is already dead.”

Freeze or Fry?

Climate forecasting, however, is in a class of its own. Few subjects are as polarizing – in some circles, if you’re perceived to be a denier it can be career-cancelling and friendship-busting.

I go back a long way with this subject, which was already a red-hot topic in the 1970s. The only difference was that, back then, it was all about global cooling. A new ice age was on its way and the statistics proved it beyond doubt. Indeed, Corporal Frazer in Dad’s Army was right all along – “We’re all doomed!”

Without apology, newspapers such as The Guardian and The New York Times dramatically changed their views just after the millennium. 

So, let’s take a look at 40 years of eco-apocalyptic predictions that never came to pass:

1. In 1970, the Boston Globe ran the headline, “Scientist Predicts a New Ice Age by 21st Century” (reporting the warning of PC Lodge, a scientist at the National Center for Atmospheric Research).

2. In 1971, the Washington Post reported, “Disastrous New Ice Age Coming” – quoting NASA scientist SI Rasool.

3. In 1973, a Brown University letter to President Nixon warned of global cooling.

4. In 1974, The Guardian ran the headline, “Space satellites show New Ice Age Coming Fast.”

5. In 1974, Time magazine published “Another Ice Age?”, noting that since the 1940s, the temperature had dropped by 2.7°F.

6. In 1976, climatologist Stephen Schneider of the University of Wisconsin lamented “the deaf ear” his warnings of an Ice Age had received.

7. In 2004, The Guardian reported how the Pentagon had warned President Bush that “Climate change will destroy us” – and that Britain could face a Siberian climate in less than 20 years.

The Great Switcheroo

In a remarkable change of direction, we went from “global cooling will kill us all” to “global warming will fry us all”. Consider the following:

1. In 2008, the Associated Press reported a NASA scientist’s claim that within five to ten years, the Arctic could be free of summer sea ice.

2. In 2008, Al Gore warned that the Arctic could be ice-free in summer by 2013.

3. In 2009, Prince Charles warned in The Independent, “Just 96 months to save the world… The price of capitalism is just too high.”

4. In 2009, Gordon Brown – referring to the need for a global agreement at the Copenhagen climate summit – wrote in The Independent, “We have fewer than 50 days to save our planet from catastrophe.”

5. In 2013, The Guardian ran the headline, “Ice-free Arctic in two years heralds methane catastrophe – scientist.” The article reported a warning that an ice-free summer Arctic could trigger the release of a 50-gigatonne pulse of methane capable of destabilising the climate system.

6. In 2013, The Guardian reported, “US Navy Predicts Ice-free Arctic by 2016”. We are reassured that “the US Navy’s department of oceanography uses complex modelling to make its forecasts more accurate than others.” (Ho Ho.)

7. In 2014, French foreign minister Laurent Fabius – referring to the time remaining before the 2015 Paris climate conference – claimed, “We have 500 days to avoid climate chaos.”

So, who will throw something at Greta Thunberg if she changes her mind and starts campaigning to warn us of an imminent ice age?

I wonder when the Italian saying, Io non c’ero, e se c’ero dormivo (“I wasn’t there and if I was, I was asleep”) might come in handy?

Ancient Worker Musings…

How many miles of stone walls were built by the ancients of history? How many bad backs! And walking by the canal, how many navvies spent their entire lives digging out the vast tons of earth that had to be hacked out to make the canal operational? What were they paid? How did they live? What did they do in their free time? What an astonishing achievement. I’ll bet it was a quicker job than HS2.

In Memory of Dinah

I don’t know whether there’s a mental condition called “Never-ending Grief Syndrome” (NEGS) after the death of a beloved pet – but for the record, the symptoms are deep emotional pain, intense longing and a lingering regret that goes on for months. I read somewhere that 20 per cent of people have admitted that the death of their dog (or cat) was the worst loss they’d ever experienced. I can well understand this.

I can’t forget the look in Dinah’s amber eyes when the vet gave her the injection. Her head was in my lap, and I knew she trusted me completely to keep her safe and look after her. And I bloody well killed her. Okay, I had no choice as her spine had been broken by a car. But it was my fault because I’d left the gate open. I’m sure she knew what was about to happen – and I wept as the injection took hold and an eternal stillness settled gently across her trusting face.

It may be tasteless to admit this, but the circumstances of her death are tattooed on my mind far more vividly than the deaths of many of my friends, even close relatives. 

I hope I am a proportionate person when it comes to animals. I have experienced the deaths of many dogs and cats, as well as several horses, but the death of Dinah was more traumatic than any of them. She was beautiful and courageous, with an irrepressible zest for life. By the sea, she’d launch herself into a ceaseless campaign, like King Canute, to persuade the waves to recede.

She loved both Jane and me unconditionally. Whenever we returned from some trip or other, she’d greet us with slobbering emotion, leaping up and down as if she were on a pogo stick. Everyone in the house knew when we were about to return because, long before our car could be heard, Dinah would start to howl and hurl herself joyfully at the garden gate.  

After her death, we vowed never to have another Staffie because we simply couldn’t bear to go through that degree of trauma and heartbreak again. I suppose we gradually recovered though, and the raw pain of our loss abated. As ZANE supporters will know, today we share our lives with our precious cockapoo, Moses, who scampers round Britain with us.

I am a stoic person, but even now, writing about Dinah’s death makes me well up in a way that hardly ever happens. When I think of relatives who have died, I don’t mourn them in the same way. Their deaths, after long and fruitful lives, seemed more like a release.

Dinah’s death leaves a definite emotional trace.

True Friendship

A couple of years ago, I included an item called “The Five Regrets of the Dying”. One regret was that when we become lazy or allow life to get in the way, it’s all too easy to lose touch with the tiny number of friends we truly love. As death approaches, many people feel an overwhelming need to restore those relationships before it’s too late.

The importance of real friendship was underscored after some of my former colleagues lost their seats in Parliament during the 2024 election. Many remain unemployed to this day and fear they may never find worthwhile work again. One even contacted me in the vain hope I could offer him a job.

Once the reality of his defeat had sunk in, my friend found it difficult to reinvent himself in a new career. Having drawn up a list of 30 or 40 people, he set about contacting them to see if they could help. Among them were people who had regularly invited him and his wife to dinner and parties – people he regarded as close friends. He was shocked to receive only a handful of replies, the majority making their excuses. The horrible truth was that out of Parliament, he’d become an embarrassment. He learned in the hardest possible way the difference between political affiliation and true friendship, between the “mere crowd” and the few people who valued him for himself.

There are those who never experience the kind of crisis that reveals the difference between real friends and the crowd. Imagine how hard it must be for celebrities and members of the Royal Family to know who their friends are. Especially for Lady Susan Hussey, a royal lady in waiting who was cruelly set up by charity founder Ngozi Fulani. Fulani was dressed in her national costume and, having been asked in all innocence “Where are you from?”, complained of “racial innuendo”. After 22 years’ loyal and unpaid service Hussey was fired, just like that! I suspect she found out the hard way who her friends are (and weren’t).

When we are young, we are unreasonably vulnerable to the influences of the crowd. What we wear, our taste in music and cars, our role models, and our choice of food, drink and restaurants are all shaped by what “they” will think and how our choices will be judged by “them”. It can be a painful lesson to discover that the crowd can be cruel and hopelessly wrong.

By the time we reach a certain age, we should have accumulated enough experience to distinguish the people who matter little in our lives from those who are true friends. We should be able to discern the difference between the mere crowd – from whom there’s nothing to be expected beyond fleeting emotions that leave no trace – and the very few who appreciate us for who we are, and for whom we feel the same affection and loyalty.

Once we pass a certain age, there’s no excuse for any confusion between the two.

For the Birds

I read about Lord Cruddas a week ago and was thinking about his life. He started as a milkman and made it mega rich in the city. Today he has a vast house in Mayfair, an estate in the Cotswolds, a chateau near Toulouse, a house in New York, two new Rolls-Royces, a vast yacht, and a private Jet.

When I was about twenty I would have been envious of that. Now in my sere and yellow the only think Cruddas has I would like is an occasional use of his private jet so I could miss the passenger crush at Heathrow.

The rest is for the birds.